Mountains and Bikes

John and I left the car just before sunrise yesterday morning and started riding mountain bikes up a narrow gulch in the South Hills pressed fast against the city of Helena.  The chill air stung my fingers as we climbed into the timber and stone mountains.  We had not gone far before a sound echoed down from the high parks above us.  We stopped on the road and stood there holding our bikes.  The sound penetrated the mountains again.

“That is not a coyote,” I said.

The howl echoed above us again.  “Nope,” John replied.

“That has to be a wolf.”

We stood there for a bit more.  The constellation Orion lay frozen in the sky above us. 

“I ain’t scared,” I said.

The mountains fell silent.

We started up the road again.  After a few more minutes we diverted from the road and began to traverse a narrow trail that climbed higher into the forest.

In the last 100 years there have been 2 incidents of wolves killing humans in North America.  Domestic dogs, on the other hand, kill 20 to 30 people every year in the United States.  Another 4.5 million Americans are bitten by dogs every year.

Fido is dangerous.

The mountains are where I want to live.

While John (25 years my junior) pedaled circles all around me, I alternated between pedaling the bike, walking it up long steeps, and just standing there, panting.  At the top of the narrow trail we encountered mist layered through the parks and light frost on the blonde grass.

The downhill trail whip-snapped through timber and stone.  Nearly terrifying, the blurry ride back to the car was the next best thing to dancing with John’s little girls after breakfast.  And hearing a wolf at your back door is something, too.  

                                                       John Colley

                                          Me

 

--Mitchell Hegman